


Heavy 80s Music.

by Sinbirdy



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Play, Body Worship, Bottom Hank, Bottom Hank Anderson, Brief Ace discussed, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Heavy Petting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Smut, Top Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 04:25:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17974457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinbirdy/pseuds/Sinbirdy
Summary: Connor is very good at eating ass, and Hank suffocates him with such an ass.





	Heavy 80s Music.

**Author's Note:**

> Big shout to the immensely talented @CheeryKnavesArt who's art is to DIE for and drew a beautiful piece based on a tweet I did that eventually resulted in this mess. 👌

Hank hasn't felt so nervous about sex since his teens. It's intimidating, sitting completely bare in front of Connor on the bed, knowing exactly what they were about the engage in despite the aura of mystery they have to pretend to maintain; although maybe that was just Hank, Connor seems fine to be transparent with his intentions. Connor just looks at him like he's gold, eyes wide, doe-like even, it does everything to brighten the blush on Hank's cheeks.

“Jeeze, Con, will you stop eye fucking me like that?” He snaps, crossing his arms over his body. He doesn't quite see the same appeal Connor does, and right now it's like spot lights are on him in replacement of Connor's eyes. Every fraction of a flaw he's got is amplified by his vulnerability - stretch marks, scars, cellulite and all, and he's never quite had a warm reception before like what Connor gives him.

The room is decorated to settle his internal embarrassment and calm him. Connor was shocked to find out how tranquil and soft Hank's interests were underneath the brash persona he held so close to his chest. The soft hum of an 80s playlist Connor found scrolling through Hank's phone plays just loud enough to drape over Hank's nerves. Connor went out and bought some fake electronic multi colored candles too, setting them all to a dim pastel pink. The room glows in the warmth of love. Connor wants everything to be as perfect as possible, and quite frankly he had had fun fetching accessories to fully sheath him and Hank in the romance.

Connor loves Hank with such a burning intensity he feels physically restricted to perform anything outside of Hank's comfort. It's like barbed wire tightens around his thirium pump the very second Hank's eyes cast downward, and he's overwhelmed by his own obsessive tendancies to rectify whatever it is Hank’s plagued by. If Connor could spend the rest of his artificial life underneath Hank like he’s a blanket, he would…

Connor nods. He takes Hank’s hand in his own and interlaces their fingers together. The peach of his faux skin peels away to reveal the matte white shine of his body, notches on his fingers glowing blue, and he smiles. Hank stares at them, fascinated by the contrast between his thick fingers and the metallic shimmer, and smirks.

“You're such a fucking sap.” He snickers, and draws Connor in close to kiss him. The embrace draws out for a minute, Connor's hands sliding round Hank's waist, and when they pull apart Connor's still kneading the plush of his love handles, the ironic look of innocence in his smile. Hank draws his mouth into a tight line. “You sure you wanna...do this?”

“Yes, Hank. Why? Have I given you the impression I am no longer interested in performing a rim job-”

“No, no, ya haven't done anything of the sort,” Hank swallows the lump in his throat and twiddles his thumbs behind Connor's neck. He looks down between them and suddenly becomes all too aware of Connor's thin stature in comparison to Hank's heavy one. “I just don't wanna make you do anything you feel you have'ta.”

Connor furrows his brows in confusion. “But it was my idea.” To which Hank laughs.

“I know, asshole. But still. You already don't get much out of us fucking, and this is kind of next level selfishness. I don't want to be some lame ass pillow princess that don't give back!”

“That is not the case at all, Hank. I already explained to you before I find it far more pleasurable an experience being able to sexually satisfy you and make you feel good than receive anything in return.”

If Connor were human Hank wouldn't believe that for a second - which admittedly he knows is narrow minded of him, but in his lifetime almost exclusively being a giver than a taker, he couldn't deny the lie he told himself that was almost exactly what Connor said. It's not that Hank doesn't believe exclusively content givers and asexuals exist, the world was too big to believe so, Hank just hasn't met anyone thus far. At least until Connor. The almost asexual android has shown Hank an array of interests, opening his mind to every colour of the spectrum. Connor loves pleasuring Hank because he loves knowing he makes him feel good. That gave him an immense feeling of satisfaction he equated to pleasure; like lightning bolts through his wires.

While Hank sorts through his array of thoughts, Connor swiftly takes lead of the situation and leans in to kiss Hank at the dip of his neck, just above the pop of his collar bone. Hank promptly melts with the affection, exhaling heavily. He grips tight on Connor and falls with every movement, perfectly in sync with Connor.

Eventually Connor’s laying down with Hank straddling his waist, the two locked in a heated make out session while their hands wander. Hank’s heart is hammering away so fast he swears he can feel the crumbling of his ribcage. Hank’s cup Connor’s face in his hands, delicate with him like he might break, and strokes back the loose curls of his hair with his thumb, watching how Connor’s LED flickers between a fluorescent yellow back to blue. Connor was a picture perfect partner in every sense, Hank could stare at him until the day he died without ever boring. The dusting of freckles over his face, identical to the many that scattered his body, it was a small factor within the grand scheme of reasons for why Hank loves Connor. Sure, he could retract his skin and reveal the electronic truth of his android body, but the peach shade of his human form still made him who he was, and the freckles put together a story no one else could read.

“How should we do this then?” Hank says, biting his lips as his eyes flicker between the warm brown of Connor’s and his thin lips.

“I propose you turn around so that you are sitting on my chest, and I’ll guide you backward.”

There was something about how Connor delivered the instructions so elegantly, as if they were so matter of fact, it made Hank’s gut tighten. He chews down harder on his bottom lip and exhales deeply, nodding. Connor watches as Hank haphazardly straddles his chest backward. Having no eye contact with him is a little unsettling, but Connor isn’t far behind with his gentle touch on the the wire-pink stretch lines on his outer thighs.

Hank awkwardly shuffles backward. He can feel the soft strokes of Connor’s breathing on his bare skin. He rolls his neck on his shoulders as a tense nerve spikes through his spine, and in his head he can’t decipher the excitement from the fear anymore. Connor’s touch is so gentle but strong. He can feel the edges of his thumbs drag open his cheeks and before Hank can react he feels the tender brush of Connor’s tongue prod at his puckered rim. Hank moans with a stutter.

“Je-Jesus Christ, Con…” He bunches up his fists in the bed sheets and holds himself up. Connor’s tongue doesn’t do much but investigate. It’s almost like Hank’s a damn crime scene, all he can feel is the tip, but it’s enough to make him tense up. The muscles in his arms contract as he holds himself steady.

Connor pulls open Hank’s cheeks more and smiles when he’s greeted with the absolute perfection of Hank’s hole. Contrary to the rest of his body, Hank’s lacking any hair there. Connor can tell he’s done some manscaping, the fresh marks of a wax visible to Connor’s sensors as well as the rough bumps along his skin. Connor slowly and curiously places his thumb over his entrance and rubs lightly. The contact is instantly electric; Hank’s sure he’s never felt this with any other lover in the past. When Hank lets out a needy whine, Connor snickers, spurred on to make Hank practically see stars. He plants a light kiss to sooth his boyfriend, but quickly turns it up to mouthing against his ass, tongue lapping at the superficial skin around his hole.

Hank arches his back, but it’s clear how his arms quiver he’s holding himself up. Connor can only do so much if Hank hovers, so he slips his hands round to the inside of his thighs and tugs lightly. Hank falters, a panicked sound calling through his moan.

“C-Con, I’m too heavy…” Hank whispers, but it falls on deaf ears. Connor digs his fingers into Hank’s thighs and pulls harder, this time forcing the older man to practically collapse. With Hank properly sat against him now, Connor can flatten his tongue over the perky pink star and begin his assault. Hank nearly shouts at the feeling, but bites his lip in time for it to come out as a strangled hum. “Holy fuck,” he breathes out.

Connor buries his face in deeper between Hanks cheeks and rubs the tip of his tongue around the rim a few more times, before finally he dips his tongue in. Deeper and deeper, he keeps one hand steady on Hank’s inner thigh to spread him wider, and the other on his belly. Connor may not be able to feel literal warmth the same way a human can, but his body can detect warmth, and alongside the pressure of Hank’s weight against him it’s all so intoxicating. He's memorising how each of his moves effects Hank; the curling of his tongue, flattening it against him, pushing in with so much force there’s a slither of discomfort for them both, he catalogues it for reference.

Hank is in absolute heaven for sure, all his reservations begin to crumble away as the pleasure builds up. God, he can’t even recall the last time someone made him feel so many things, but he knew for sure no one has ever eaten his ass with such determination before. He goes cross eyed, thrusting into nothing then back against Connor’s face.

“Oh baby, you’re so-- _fuck_ ,” Hank can feel himself completely slipping, like an outer body experience. His head hangs against his chest. “I might die, I swear…” but Connor doesn’t respond. Sure, it’s not literal, but Hank’s not used to the silence. Connor’s always so quick to bite back with realism, yet here he is, for a lack of better words suffocating under Hank’s ass that he’s literally suppressed from speech. The thought sends bolts of pleasure up Hank’s spine - Connor can’t speak because he’s too busy eating Hank’s ass!

Hank moans loud and lifts his arms up to cross behind his head, gripping at his shoulder blades. His mouth hangs open and he stops trying to conceal anything and just lets everything go. He rolls his hips, moans spilling out of him like a veteran porn star. Connor’s tongue presses into his hole and Hank’s voice hitches, back arching. The hand against his belly grips at his fat and squeezes gently. Hank’s cock goes untouched, but something about that adds to the experience. He can feel his orgasm boiling like a kettle.

“I love ya, Con, so fucking much-- Jeez- remind me to send a damn thank you letter to whoever made that tongue of yours!” He laughs, and feels a responsive squeeze from Connor’s hands. He holds his own over the one atop of his belly and picks up his rhythm. If Connor needed to breathe he would never have been so vivacious, but he doesn’t, so Hank takes advantage of it. His dick throbs heavily between his legs, same as Connor’s, and he watches them like a starving man with his sights set on a prime steak.

Connor _slurps_ \- there’s nothing muffled about the sound either, it’s a loud, wet, rather grotesque sound that rips a cry from Hank. He stutters forward, but Connor posessively holds him in position and laps at Hank’s sloppy perky hole with all his might. Hank’s hips twinge - the obscene wet feel of Connor’s tongue inside him, he can’t handle it. His own tongue hangs out his mouth and his eyes roll back. He may as well be a rag doll, he can feel himself so close he can’t take it. Connor’s tongue is sopping wet, he can feel his ass becoming more and more slippery.

He takes both their cocks in his hands and begins to pump. The juxtaposition cramps his wrists but who cares, all he wants is to relieve the tightening of his balls. He quickens his pumping, moaning louder and louder, even hearing the softest of groans from down below that vibrates against his skin, and sooner than expected he cums hard. White ropes spill over his hand, his belly tensing as he lowers his head into his shoulders. His heavy panting must be what does it for Connor, as he cums too, more projectile as Hank feels it splash against his chest. Connor sweeps his tongue over Hank’s rim one last long time, then with great strength picks Hank up. Hank’s eyes bulge as he’s shifted down, but follows the movement and lazily flops beside Connor.

Suddenly the sounds around them are amplified. They’re all too aware of the 80s music circulating their scene, and they both silently question if it had been playing the entire time (which yes, it was). It's a soft song with bolts of bass going straight to both their hearts, and Hank can't help but hold a hand over his chest. It's like a rabbit's going mad inside his body, trying so desperately to escape the confines, he worries it might genuinely bust out.

Connor sits up and leans over Hank. He draws his fingers over the stretch marks on his doughy belly and smiles warmly at Hank.

“How did you find the experience?” He asks as if it's a survey for anyone on the street. Hank blows out his cheeks and laughs.

“I feel like someone shoved a hose up my ass.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Hank's too ashamed to say it's the best fucking thing he's ever felt. “It's just a thing. Stop ya worrying, dumbass.” He throws his arm around Connor and pulls him against his chest, kissing him on the top of the head. “How did you find it, baby?” He says lowly, brushing back Connor's hair.

“I thoroughly enjoyed rimming you, Hank. I like knowing I can make you so happy.” Connor rests his head against Hank's chest and nuzzles into his his pecks, when suddenly he feels something wet. He looks at Hank's graying chest hair and sees the thick sticky blue thirium racked in his curled hair. He frowns. “I should get you a towel-” but as he pushes up to get one, Hank twists himself to throw a leg over Connor's back, pulling him in. He hooks his arms around Connor's neck and grins deviously while Connor curiously assess the situation.

“Don't you even fucking think about leaving.” He growls, and pulls Connor down to kiss him passionately. Truth be told, the slutty part of Hank likes having Connor's cum on him, like some kind of gross mark that he's “owned”, but really he just can't bare to be alone after such intensity. Connor kisses back deeply, tongue delving into Hank's mouth, running over his teeth to feel the gap and smiles.

“Shall we try that again some time?” Connor asks against Hank's lips, laughing along with Hank as he does.

“You bet my fat ass, yeah!”

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter is @HanksDaddyKink - let me know your thoughts, if you liked it or have any critiques to help me improve (yes I take writing porn super serious 👍) and if you wanna talk more, just tweet weird shit at me 💖


End file.
